


A Hot One

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: 31 Days of Porn, Uglywettie Style [12]
Category: Takin' Over the Asylum
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, 31 Days of Porn Uglywettie Style, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ice Play, Instant Attraction, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: 31 Days of Porn, Uglywettie Style - Day #28[Set about two years after the end of TOtA]Campbell visits home with a big surprise for his parents, and finds one of his own. A very sexy one.





	A Hot One

“We’ll only be gone for the night,” Campbell’s father said in a defensive tone.

But I’m only there for the weekend, he thought. They always did it, but he decided to not get upset by it this time. He had a surprise for them. A big, shiny one.

“We’d come back, but you know ever since the machine died, we are a slave to Aunt Nora’s whim, and she doesn’t like driving at night.”

“Yeah,” Campbell said, distracted by his excitement. He was talking to them from a pay phone at a gas station. Someone honked, and he didn’t hear the end of his father’s sentence.

“-a quiet one. Just keep to yourself,” he finished.

“Huh? What’s quiet, da?” Cam said. A bunch of screaming teenagers poured out of the honking car. He tucked his body deeper in the pay phone.

“The lodger. A nice girl, you know. She’s foreign.” He whispered the last bit, but sympathetically. There were few foreigners of any kind in their quiet suburb of Glasgow.

The kids started to swarm around his car, and it made him nervous. They looked the type who enjoyed destroying new things.

“I’ve gotta go, da. I’ll keep to masel’. See you tomorrow,” he said, and ran to the car. The kids scattered like gulls. He opened the window, stuck his arm out and honked, giving them a wild smile as he drove out.

* * *

 He cursed as he struggled with his newly-cut house key. Sweat beaded his brow. He looked up at the steel-colored sky. How was it so damn hot? If he could curse the rain into falling, he would.

He tried again, sliding the key into the lock slowly, concentrating on every pin click. He turned it. It didn’t budge.

“Fuck!” he said, and slapped the door.

“Excuse me, sir?” It was a soft female voice. A woman holding a paper grocery sack stared at him, eyes wide. Her dark hair was wet at her temples with sweat. She looked him up and down, then walked to the door, keys in hand.

“You’re their boy, aren’t you?” she said as she opened the door. Her key went in smooth as butter.

“Indeed I am. Campbell. _Bain_ ,” he said, holding his hand out. She put her grocery sack in his arms and walked inside.The house felt no cooler - his parents didn’t have AC, just ceiling fans. She switched on the one in the lounge as she walked to the kitchen.

He followed, mesmerized by the v cut out of the waistband of her tight jeans. Just that little detail made her bum look exactly like a heart. Or a peach. His mouth watered.

He could really dig into an ice-cold can of peaches. With ice cream. And a cold beer. Or just… cold anything. He put the bag down on the counter and she began putting things away quickly. Oats. A quart of milk. A basket of cherries. A bottle of white wine.

Her bare arms were deeply tanned. The hollow of her armpit shone with sweat. She put her wavy hair up with a scrunchie. The back of her red cotton shirt was wet.

“Where are you from?” he asked without preamble, leaning against the counter.

“America,” she said, in a very American accent.

“The great melting pot,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “I’m dying to go.”

“It’s alright,” she said, trying to reach the highest shelf of the cupboard. He moved to help. She stared at him again - almost too long, with dark, indolent eyes - and pointed to a can of mixed fruit salad. He grabbed it easily and handed it to her.

“You’re not like in the pictures,” she said as she put the can in the freezer.

“Oh?” he said, looking for more fruit in the cupboard. Alas, there was none. When he turned, she was leaning against the open freezer door, staring.

“They call you their boy. Showed me your childhood photos. I couldn’t help imagining one. But of course, you’re not a boy anymore,” she said. Her nipples hardened at the sharp chill against her back. He looked down.

“Silly, right?” she said, smiling.

“A bit,” he said, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt. He had the sudden urge to cover himself.

“Well, Mr. Bain, I’ll stay out of your way,” she said. She walked to the end of the hallway, then turned and smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you,” he said, flushing. Just as soon as she disappeared, he looked in the fridge for a beer.

* * *

  **1:20 AM**

 

Something woke him from his sleep. He scratched at his bare belly and looked out the open window. The night was inordinately still for that neighborhood. It felt like even sound was dampened by the humid heat.

He heard scratches. He rose from the sofa and walked toward the sound.

The yellow refrigerator bulb lit a half-naked silhouette of a woman. She bent, low, rummaging for something in a bottom drawer.

Bottom. Drawer. She was wearing a short robe, and not a stitch more. This he could see with enticing clarity.

She ahh’d. He cleared his throat.

She popped back up, holding a packet of cherries.

“Campbell!” she said. She looked away. He wore only a pair of black boxer briefs.

“Call me Cam,” he said. “Please excuse the abbreviated attire,” he said, going into the freezer for some ice. “This weather’s a bitch.”

She tugged at the hem of her robe now, but it was too late, and it was too short. She wondered what he saw. A lot. But did he see everything?

“Only if you can excuse me,” she said. He twisted the plastic ice tray and the ice crackled deliciously. She took a cube and pressed it to the base of her neck. “I’ve been in my bed, naked and spread eagle, wishing for death.”

“You’re in my old room. It’s the hottest in the house,” he said, crunching on a cube. “Mercifully, it never got quite this hot in my hallowed youth.”

“I’m tempted to give your parents a few quid more a month and buy a box fan,” she said. “I’m roasting.” The cube melted quickly, dripping rivulets between her breasts. Despite the ice melting on his own tongue, he was thirsty.

“My flat in Glasgow’s no better. I’ve gotten into the habit of going to bed with a bowl of ice,” he said. “That’s why I visit home during the summer - it’s cooler in the suburbs.”

She giggled and shook her head. Tendrils of hair stuck to her neck. “Didn’t work out for you this time,” she said. She took another ice cube and licked the frost off.

“Not at all,” he said, leaning against the counter again. Her eyes traveled to his tight belly. The band of his underwear dipped low on the silky hair of his treasure trail. She wanted to lick the hair wet so much her lips pursed at the imagined salt of his sweat. She turned to the cherries, but she was biting her lip. He stared.

A lot had happened since he started working at the radio station. New people. New experiences. And he was no longer a virgin, so he recognized the look.

“Do you want to know what I do with the bowl of ice?” he asked.

“Hmm?” She stared at the fruit and avoided his gaze. Did he see? His body language changed. Could he smell it on her? She leaned forward, hands splayed on the counter.

“Would you like me to show you what I do with the bowl of ice?” he repeated.

“I can imagine,” she said. Her voice shook. He was just behind her now, close enough she felt his heat. He was lovely. And lithe. And he smelled of sweat and sweet boy flesh-

She jumped when his fingers grazed her thigh, right underneath the hem of the robe. Quick, they moved up and between her thighs.

“That’s not sweat,” he said into her neck. His fingers parted and rubbed. Her body curled with the sensation. She imagined herself slapping his hand away and screaming bloody murder. He pressed his narrow hips into her ass. It was a foolish though. He was hot, and hardening fast. Sweat beaded her belly and dripped from underneath her breasts. His forearm slid against her hip with it.

He licked her earlobe.

“What do you do with the ice?” she said. She felt his lips curve against the back of her ear, and he stopped.

He pulled out a flowered ceramic bowl from the cupboard and emptied the icetray into it, sucking his pussy wet fingers. Then, he mmm’d.

“They make ‘em sweet in America,” he said, and winked at her, putting emphasis on the last word. He walked into her bedroom [his former bedroom] and kicked the door closed. He wriggled out of his underwear and threw himself on her bed, with the bowl of ice on his belly. “Come on, then.” He patted the space beside him. “Off with the robe. Too hot for clothes, right?”

She was a bit dazed. He was not shy. **At all.**

He took some ice from the bowl and circled his nipple with it. He sucked in breath and chuckled, biting his lower lip. His nipple peaked, and cold water dripped down his ribcage and onto her sheets.

“Do the other one,” she said, dropping her robe and climbing into bed. He gave her a crooked grin and obeyed. The other nipple hardened. Water dripped down the center of his belly and pooled in his belly button.

His eyes were on her breasts. Just as he reached out to squeeze, she bent to suck the water from his belly button. It was still cool, but brackish with sweat. The ice bowl tinkled as her tongue dipped lower, doing what she’d imagined in the kitchen.

He was all musky salt.

She felt for the bowl, put an ice cube in her mouth, then straddled him. He moved the bowl and sat up, his lips already pursed to suck.

She gasped as he took one of her nipples in his mouth - his tongue was deliciously chilled. Heat pooled between their joined hips. His tongue swirled between her breasts, and to the other nipple, but his mouth had warmed too fast. He took a ice cube and dripped cold water on her nipple, smiling as he watched it harden. He shifted his hips so his cock swelled between her cunt lips.

She moaned, and cold water dripped from the corner of her mouth. He saw, and kissed her deeply, rubbing his tongue on hers and groaning at the cool. He plucked her nipple with his ice cold finger and she sighed.

“Suck it warm,” she said. He bowed his head and sucked, and squeezed her ass with cold hands. It felt amazing so close to her heat.

She crunched on some ice, then let the cold water drip on his cheek and between their bodies. It bled between their bellies. He looked up at her, lips red with friction.

“Do you want it here?” he said. His fingers slid easily down the crack of her ass to her pussy and rubbed.

She nodded, curious. The sweet-faced boy in the photos… the one she was so curious about... what did he know about that anyway?

He moved down and spread her legs wide.

“I wish I could see you better,” he said.

She tried to turn on her lamp, but he pulled her back with ice-chilled hands.

“Too hot! for now, feel and taste will have to do.” He dripped cold water on her overheated folds. She sighed. “Just a little more…” he put the very tip of an ice cube right underneath her clit. She bucked, it slipped down, and her cunt devoured it.

Before she could cry out he slid his tongue inside her to retrieve it. It was nearly melted, and she arched as he worked it into nothing inside her. Warm water mixed with her arousal and flooded his mouth.

His upper lip rubbed rhythmically against her clit, making her tremble. She spread her thighs wide and nudged his shoulders with her feet.

“Suck it,” she said. He licked around it, then very lightly grazed his teeth against her bud. The tip of his tongue was still cool, but she craved the heat of his mouth. He spread her open and sucked both bud and surrounding flesh softly, teasing. He grabbed another ice cube and put it in his mouth.

“More,” she said. He swallowed and licked her, flicking his tongue. She cursed. He chuckled. Just as he felt her thigh muscles loosen, he sucked on her. Firmly.

She snapped into an arch and grabbed a handful of his thick hair, spurring him on. He was merciless. A suck, then a long lick from cunt to clit. Then two gentle sucks, while the tip of his tongue danced on the most sensitive part of her bud. And he wasn’t afraid to use his lips for friction. Her feet slid on his shoulders.

He sucked noisily, his tongue seeming to unfurl and part her swollen inner lips. More sweet friction, then sucking. Then the rough silk of his tongue, rubbing rhythmically on her bud, back and forth, as he drank her down.

Her orgasm went straight to her head, sweet and silent. Her thighs still twitched against his shoulders when he slid two fingers inside her. His eyes glowed in the yellow light coming in from the street.

She tried to to sit up. “I want your cock. Now.”

Her come-swollen pussy swallowed his fingers to the knuckle easily.

“American women sure are demanding,” he said, and curled them into her g-spot. She was so sensitive from orgasm it made her cry out hoarsely. “Good,” he said, then bit her inner thigh softly as he began to move his fingers inside her.

It was slow, but firm, and she was quiet with sensation. He snapped his fingers inside her, making her pubic bone vibrate. She groaned. How did he know to do that? The sweet boy with the too long hair, and the too many records?

“Can you feel that?” he said, doing it again.

“Faster,” she said, caressing the wet hair from his forehead. He moved up and beside her, sliding his other arm around her waist. She wanted to kiss, but his face was still too low.

“I can feel it,” he said, looking up at her as his hand moved between her legs. He pressed his hip against her thigh, and when his hard cock trailed precum on her skin, she cried out. She tried to touch, but he moved. She bit his shoulder.

“Feel what?”

“This,” he said, and pressed into her in such a way that she saw white light. Her hand turned to a claw on his ribcage. He chuckled.

“Do it again,” she said, panting.

“You sure? The window’s open,” he said, moving higher. Now his throbbing cock was on her hip. She tried to stroke, but he shifted away from her. She bit his neck. “Ms. McAllister will hear you come. And the Verdus. Nice, salt of the earth folk.”

“I’m not that loud,” she said, licking the little crease just beneath his lip. He was still slick with her juices.

“Still,” he got out of bed and closed the window.

“Noooo-“ she said, but he rolled on top of her and three fingers stretched her. His arm moved swiftly, pressing into the same sweet sweet spot, and pressure built almost painfully inside her. He panted into her breasts. Soon, she pushed his fingers out and wet his belly.

“Not that loud?” he said, bewildered. “Window's closed, but I think they heard anyway-“ He started again. The room was turning into a sweatbox but his hand was strong and fast and with a wailing groan she came again.

She shook her head. “No more. Too much,” she said, slapping his shoulder weakly.

“Yes more,” he said, and his cock replaced his fingers. Her muscles tightened around him almost immediately, and he turned on his back and pulled her to sitting on top of him.

“Go on. Take it,” he said, grinding into her from underneath. She sighed and began to move. The ice was gone - there was only cold water. He dipped both hands in the bowl and trailed them down her body as she rode, plucking her swollen nipples, then sucking the moisture off. She pushed him back down and did the same, rubbing the cold water on his neck and chest. She moved faster - he had sensitized her to the point of madness and now his cock hit her spot every time. She put her hands on his shoulders and fucked him hard. He squeezed her breasts and whimpered with each thrust, such a sweet sound, and it made her whimper back.

She kissed him and he sat up, holding her close. It was so hot and their bodies slid against each other with sweat but it worked out, because she could ride him quick and deep with less friction except where it mattered. He groaned a warning into her sternum.

“Come in my mouth,” she said.

He nodded, and she slid off him and to the floor by the bed. She wanted to take her time, but he was achingly hard and ready to go and she was eager to taste. She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and sucked, moaning as her lips slid easily over her own juices. She took his balls in her other hand and caressed as she swallowed as much of him as she could without gagging.

“Do all three. Please,” he said, stroking the back of her neck. She stroked, caressed and sucked and her pussy dripped to the floor. The crown of his cock swelled against her tongue, his balls tightened in her hand and he finally burst. He tried to fidget away but she kept going, stroking and sucking softly until his strong pulses turned to twitches against her thirsty tongue, then a bit more, and he collapsed on the mattress.

The air was heavy with their shared humidity and sharp with musk. She stood, stretched languidly, and opened the window again, sighing as a breeze hit her belly.

“I smell rain,” she said, crawling into bed beside him. They lay spread eagle, letting their bodies cool off, but still holding hands.

“I’m a rude shit,” he said, turning to her.

“Why?”

“I never asked your name.”

“I never offered to tell you,” she said. “But you earned it. Samira.”

“Samira,” he repeated a couple times, seeming to taste it. “I love it.”

“Thanks,” she said. She leaned over to kiss him. His hot flesh made her hiss, but she settled into his chest anyway.

“From America, right?” he said and he raked his fingers through her sweat-damp hair.

“Yep,” she said.

“You know what’s strange, Samira from America?” he said.

“I was a wee boy in this room. I thought plenty about having sex with a beautiful woman in here, but I never thought it would happen.”

“Were we better than the fantasies?” she said. What he didn't know is she thought plenty about having sex with the young man who stayed in her room, but never thought it would happen. 

“Och aye,” he said gravely.

"I know." She smiled and kissed his clavicle. They laid in silence for a bit, but despite the breeze, the heat wouldn’t give.

“Would you like to share the sofa? It’s way cooler, and I’ll wake you before my parents come.”

She rolled out of bed. “Yes. And could you go into the icebox for that can of mixed fruit? I think we deserve a treat."

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, running into the kitchen.

* * *

 Before dawn, he kissed her awake and sent her back to her room. Her sheets smelled like him, and she drifted back to sleep quickly.

* * *

 A loud squeal woke her later. A woman’s scream. She rose, disoriented, and looked out the window. Campbell and his parents stood around a new compact car parked on the curb - the car he’d arrived in.

“Really, boy, you shouldn’t have!” his mother said in her doll voice, but she jumped with glee as his father sat behind the wheel, beaming. Samira got up and knelt at the window.

“It's the least I can do, after what you did for me. I know it wasn’t easy when I was at St. Jude’s. That I wasn’t… easy.”

“But lookit ye now, boy!” his father said, getting out of the car and looking up at him with a smile. “Bought yer old parents a machine with the radio money - brand new and all.” He rocked back on his heels, flushed with pride.

“But how will you get back, love?” his mom asked, caressing the bonnet. It was a dark green, with gold reflects.

“Same way I always do,” he said. “I love a good train ride. I never grew out of it. Anyway, would you like to go for a ride?” Cam said, holding the keys.

“After food,” his father said, but he grabbed the keys and patted his shoulder.

“Does Samira ever, uh,  join you for breakfast?” he said, trying to hide the sudden flush rising up his neck.

“Samira- the lodger, of course! She loves a bit of porridge in the morning. With brown sugar and fruit, though,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Good girl, though. Works hard, no trouble.”

“None at all,” Cam said, already eager to kiss her awake again as her parents prepared breakfast in the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm aware the fluff at the end is superfluous, and a lot of people would argue it's not quite canon. But I've been writing a lot of dark!Campbell, and that sweetness just heals my soul. 
> 
> Also, I believe Cam's father was just a working class man trying to understand the complexity of his son's illness - I don't think he was the enemy. Furthermore, in my headcanon, his being on the radio helped to him to corral his boundless energy and control his disease [along with regular visits to a psychiatrist and proper medication, of course]. It's win/win all around.


End file.
